


and time takes me away.

by alpacas



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angels Take Manhattan, F/M, Gen, P.S., instead of ot3 it's more like ot2 and a half, plus river
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacas/pseuds/alpacas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor drops by for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and time takes me away.

**Author's Note:**

> BARFS FEELINGS. a lot of this was written because of a reaction i've seen here and there to amy & rory's fate- how ridiculously easy it would be to visit them or bring them back to their time with the help of a plane ticket to somewhere that isn't NYC, and the underlying feeling that that's what should have happened, that they were only put in NYC to get them out of the way.
> 
> title taken from 'how much more' by stars. to wit: _how much more am i supposed to take/how much more am I supposed to break/you asked for time, and time takes you away/i'm alone and you're, you're a man/i need you closer to me/my hands are tied/because i won't say goodbye/i tried/i told you I was brave but i lied/is this the story or/is this the end_
> 
> happy christmas!!!?

Amy's just starting to wonder if it's too early to take the Christmas decorations down when there's a knock on the door. She sets down her notebook and pen and tries to fix her hair on the way; she's taken the day off and probably doesn't look presentable by her neighborhood's standards. And this time of year, it's probably a neighbor. They knock again, louder. "I'm coming!" Honestly, what's the rush? It hasn't even been a minute.

She yanks open the door and is only slightly surprised to see River, fist raised as though she was about to knock again. Her expression is one of grim determination, and Amy is about to start worrying about what could possibly be invading New York  _this_ time.

And then she sees who is standing behind her, running his hands up and down his sides like he's misplaced something in his pockets, expression wild and terrified, and now Amy understands the rush her daughter is in. The Doctor looks like he's about to bolt. "Hello," she says. River smiles, grim and accomplished. The Doctor looks at Amy, so scared and  _open_ that it makes her heart hurt.  _I will never be able to see you again_ And she thinks:  _Gotcha._  "What?" Amy says, as arch as she can manage, even if she's feeling a bit terrified and shaky herself. "No hugs?" 

River smiles and heads past her into the house.

The Doctor dithers on the front walk; wrings his hands. "I shouldn't be here," he says. Paradoxes? Fear? Does it matter?

"Doctor," Amy says, and her stomach twists because it's something she never thought she'd be able to say again. "It's the day after Christmas."

He looks at her again, too open, frighteningly so, the usual wall behind his eyes shattered and broken. If he was anyone else, Amy might think him about to cry. She sees his adam's apple bob as he swallows, and then he nods and steels up and strides up the path, like she's some alien he needs to deal with. But she catches him within three steps, and he smells, as always, like burnt circuitry and tea and dust, which are not exactly  _good_  smells—and he's all bones and elbows—and he's absolutely freezing cold—and she pulls him tight to her, and he clutches at the back of her blouse, his face pressed into her shoulder, and  _she_ might cry at this rate. "Oh, _Amy_ ," he says, and then she very nearly does.

When at last they pull apart, both a bit misty eyed and smiling nervously, now, the Doctor looks more like his usual self. He touches her face, presses her cheeks between his hands, takes her all in, up and down, in a way that'd be a little bit condescending or like a strange grandfather if it wasn't him. Then he goes back and starts to examine the snowy yard—"Oh, just come in," she says, taking him by the hand—and he lets her.

The house is nice. Sort of small, a basic suburban starter home, but she and Rory have been doing their best to fill it with bits and pieces and clutter. The Doctor doesn't tear off to explore it, start lifting up nicknacks and chairs to see what might be on the other sides, just keeps his grip tight on her hand. Amy leads him to the living room, where River has already set up coffee and had a seat on the couch. "I'm surprised you stayed out there so long," she says approvingly. "It's freezing."

Amy gently removes her hand from the Doctor's and sits beside her daughter on the couch. The Doctor clasps his hands together— _holding hands with himself_ , she thinks, for a half second—and goes to look at the Christmas tree. "It's actually the warmest it's been all week," Amy mutters, gladly warming her hands on one of the mugs. And then, at the Doctor, "It's not bad, yeah? You should have seen Rory obsessing over it. Every bit of tinsel had to be  _just_ so…" she rolls her eyes fondly. 

The Doctor wanders over to the mantel. He keeps giving her and River looks, checking that they're still there. They don't have much on the mantel—three stockings, obviously, a framed cut-out of the first magazine article Amy had published here, and a photo of the Statue of Liberty. You either laugh or be terrified. The Doctor flips that photograph down. "Where _is_ Rory?" he asks, turning back again, and she's pleased he sounds hopeful.

"At work," she says. And without mobile phones, she can't exactly call him. "You're both staying until he comes home," she adds. "Especially you," at the Doctor, a little crossly. It's not his fault or anything, but Rory deserves to see him again. To say goodbye. Both of them do. The Doctor nods hesitantly, after a glance at River.

River leans back into the couch and takes a languid sip of her coffee. "It's been a month since I last saw you," she says. " _Much_ longer for him. He's found someone new to travel with; Clara. He'll tell you all about her, I'm sure." It somehow sounds like a threat, even if she's talking like the Doctor isn't in the room. He makes his way back over to them and sits in the chair opposite the sofa. "But he's worried. What if I lose her too. What if it's like before." The Doctor scowls at her but doesn't interrupt. River smiles beautifully. "It took  _ages_ to convince him this would be safe."

"How long have you been planning this?" Amy asks, watching the Doctor. He's gone very still, very  _look at me, I can't hear this_.

"Nearly since it happened," River admits. "I just thought there might be some better ending than… how things did end."

"I read your book," the Doctor interjects, leaning forward in his chair. His eyes are searching, and she looks back, unconcerned. She finished the editing and the afterword months ago; shortly after River's last visit. She thinks she understands what River means by a better ending, but she doesn't know if the Doctor does, yet. He relaxes, able to tell that she knows what he meant.

"Please," River says. "Like I'd be  _that_ reckless."

Amy smiles and drinks her coffee. "So, this Clara girl, then."

It's a bit awkward at first, but the Doctor slowly relaxes. He tells them about how they met, about what came after. Who she is, and was, and might still be. He interrupts himself several times to talk about completely different things and people, goes on several tangents and only eventually remembers what he'd originally been saying. Clara is clever, and adventurous, and is hopefully not getting into mischief on the TARDIS by herself while they're here. The Doctor is somewhat doubtful about this hope, but he's pleased, too, excited about the trouble that might be waiting for him, and Amy relaxes with every centimeter the Doctor becomes more his usual self, because he  _is_ alright. Or nearly there. They all finish their coffees and the Doctor is entertaining them with a story about a recent encounter with the Rutan when the baby starts to cry.

Amy automatically turns her head. Anthony is in her completely unbiased estimation a  _brilliant_ baby, and very good at staying asleep when he needs to take a nap, but when he wants something, the entire world will know it. "I'll get him," River says, looking very close to excited, and Amy smiles and sits back down, because River has taken to her little brother like a cat to milk. It's then that she looks at the Doctor, and her smile fades. He looks frozen—scared, again, taken by surprise, confused. 

"You have a _baby_ ," he says. As shocked and confused as he looks, he still sounds wondrous; like he's never heard of such a thing before. She tries to remember if either she or Rory ever told him about her—fertility issue—but decides it doesn't matter.

"Anthony Brian," she says. "Rory named him. He insisted. Since I named Melody, fair's fair." Not that she minds either name, of course. In her unbiased opinion, it's one of the greatest names in the world. She's well aware she's bursting with maternal pride and couldn't care less. "He's nine months old." Down the hall, Anthony's shrieks have died down somewhat, and they can hear River's voice if not her words, talking to him as she changes a nappy. 

"He calls you 'Mom,'" the Doctor says, staring in that direction like he wants to see through the walls. She wonders if he's going to tear off to the nursery to meet him before River can bring him out. 

"Well, he is American," Amy says, resigned to his probable accent.

"Anthony Brian Pond," the Doctor breathes. Amy beams.

River brings Anthony out a minute later, no longer shrieking but still looking grumpy, like he's considering it. The Doctor rushes over before Amy can even stand from the couch, scooping him out of River's arms. River looks a little surprised and pleased, crossing her arms thoughtfully. "I'll get him some formula," Amy says. The kitchen is only a room over, so she's able to hear the Doctor as she goes through the cupboards and prepares a bottle.

"Hello!" he says. "I'm the Doctor!" " _Just_ the Doctor." "I'm a friend of your Mum and Dad." "No, I look cool." "You're as bad as your sister. He's as bad as you are, River," he adds, sounding both thrilled and like he wants to sulk. Amy lingers in the kitchen, hands pressed to the countertops, and just smiles. That's all she can do. River retorts, the Doctor follows, tries to get Anthony to pick between them and then—pleased but with mock outrage—is offended by the baby's choice. She stands there and listens and her heart hurts, twisted and sharp, with the love she feels, right now, for all of them. Her family. Of course she'd wished the Doctor could meet Anthony. But she and Rory had never allowed themselves to hope for it. The Doctor laughs, delighted by something one of them—one of her children—says. Here they are.

Amy leaves the kitchen with Anthony's bottle and takes her son from the Doctor. She feeds him, and they talk, and then the Doctor insists on taking him back and she lets him, and she and River catch up while the Doctor resumes his conversation with the baby. It grows dark outside, and it's not too long after that that Rory arrives home. She starts to stand up, to go greet him and maybe give him a word of warning, but the Doctor leaps up first, grinning. "Wait! I want to," he says brightly, and he's finally himself again. Amy and River share an amused look.

"The garage is over there," she says, nodding towards the kitchen; the Doctor bounds off with Anthony. She sits back down slowly. Part of her really wants to see this reunion—Rory is no doubt going to be surprised and confused and it always warms the heart to see him struggling to catch up—but she'd like the moment alone with River, too. 

"This is good for him," River says, guessing what she's after. They've gotten biscuits from the kitchen, and she turns one over in her hands, suddenly serious. "He'd had himself half convinced you  _were_ dead, not just in that time. That he'd lost you to some terrible fate. I tried to tell him otherwise and he wouldn't listen. Wouldn't even let me talk about seeing you." Not that it had stopped her. In the two years they'd been living in New York, River must've visited half a dozen times. Amy suspected these visits would die off in frequency as time went by, but she'd enjoy them while she could.

"It's… easier for him," Amy says cautiously. There's an opening door and a yelp and Rory and the Doctor talking over one another all at once. Anthony starts to fuss in the loudness of it all, and she takes a moment to grin at her boys. Her smiles fades as she continues. "If he thinks of us as dead, he doesn't have to look back." Or something. He can put it aside. Stop fussing. He can just add the guilt to his mountain and try to move on. No loose ends. "I'm glad you brought him for a visit."

River nods. "I don't think I can do it a second time. He wasn't kidding about the paradoxes. He's too big." She sounds apologetic. 

"I know." This… it's not enough, as much as she'd like. But it's more than she could have hoped for. And maybe he'll see the underlying point. That they are okay. They have Anthony. A house. Lives. They're together, alive, happy, and the Doctor didn't send them to their deaths, no matter what he thinks. 

the Doctor and Rory, now holding Anthony, wander back into the living room, the Doctor talking ninety miles an hour—and making it sound like this visit was all his idea—and Rory grinning his stupidest, looking from him to Amy to River to back again, like he's not yet sure any of this is properly real. He bounces Anthony in his arms automatically, and Amy thinks again: this is so definitely not the bad ending. Rory sits down next to Amy on the sofa, stretching his legs out under the coffee table, still looking incredulous and happy. The Doctor resumes his wandering of the living room, and notices for the first time—and stands before—a picture on the far wall, from the day Anthony was adopted. "How long are you staying?" Rory asks River and the Doctor.

"Oh, through dinner," River says, which is news to Amy although maybe not surprising news. She glances out the window. Actually… it's probably about dinner time now. 

"It'll be soup or fried eggs," she says, because she doesn't feel like leaving to go cook, or making anyone else do the same. She leans against Rory, and Anthony snatches at her hair. 

While she's trying to free herself, the Doctor touches the photo gently, and then whirls back around to them. "I'll cook!" That could turn out well or badly, Amy reflects, taking Anthony from her husband and setting him down on the floor to crawl around. He's not walking quite yet, but he can stand well if he can put his hands on something, and has lately become a mess-making disaster if she and Rory don't keep their eyes well on him. He tears off for the Christmas tree, which basically proves her point.

Rory springs up to divert Anthony's course, adding, for the Doctor, "cook  _what_?" 

"Food! Human food. I've had quite a few cooking lessons, I'll have you know." The Doctor's chest puffs out.

"Oh, I'll help," River says, which gets her two incredulous looks, one from each parent. River can do many things, but cook is not one of them, even slightly. "I'll supervise, then," she amends, smiling mischievously. 

Amy and Rory share a concerned look as River pushes the Doctor into the kitchen, the Doctor protesting that he doesn't need supervision—this seems like a disaster in the making. But then they're both grinning, because it's not the sort of disaster they thought they'd ever have to face again. She crosses the room and kisses him, hard, and he's a little surprised but returns it. 

When they go into the kitchen, bringing Anthony along with, the Doctor has what seems like every single pan they own out on the various counters, and something grey and bubbly in a pan. It smells delicious, though, and so Amy gets some wine out and some orange juice for the Doctor, and they drink and talk and reminisce  The Doctor finishes his story about the Rutons, Amy and Rory carefully stress the good parts of their new lives, leaving out all job difficulties and homesickness, River bounces Anthony on a knee and announces to them all, suddenly, that when he gets old enough, she'll pop back with a full scholarship to Luna University for him. And then she and the Doctor argue about the merits of that and what he should study. Rory is of the opinion that Anthony can make a ridiculous amount of money if he studies computers—he'll be of the perfect age to catch that wave in the 70s—and Amy likes the idea of him as an artist of some kind, which Rory argues just isn't practical, and then it just dissolves from there.

Eventually the Doctor serves them all his best approximation of New New Mars cuisine of the 83rd-B century, as cooked with human ingredients, and Anthony gets a bit mashed up and only makes a small mess of it. They talk and drink and eat and it's lovely, but Amy holds back from drinking as much as she'd like, and as the evening goes on, a new feeling begins to emerge. Or maybe that's just the wine. She feels like she's holding her breath. Towards the end of dinner, Anthony gets fussy, so she leaves to bring him to his room.

His bedroom is small, painted the brightest blue they could get away with, but blue the color of the sky, not the TARDIS. He fusses and whines as she puts him in his pajamas  into his crib, and tucks him in; he immediately kicks the blankets off and then again when Amy puts them back. She glowers at him. "I know you're tired, so don't play games with me," she says, trying to distract him with a stuffed rabbit. 

"He takes after you," the Doctor says from behind her. Amy turns around. He's standing in the doorway, hand on the frame, no more grins and stories, just soft and quiet.

She huffs back a smile and leans down to stroke Anthony's hair. He starts to settle down. "I suppose it'd be too much to ask for him to be nice and calm like Rory," she says, wrinkling her nose.

"Rory? I bet he was a terrible baby. Very beaky." That doesn't make sense, but she smiles back. The Doctor comes over, pulling his sonic screwdriver out of his jacket pocket. A quick point and pressing of a button, and Anthony's mobile begins to spin. It's a simple thing—little metal stars painted in primary colors  with Saturn in the middle. "Not accurate at all," the Doctor scoffs, and sonicks it again. It stops spinning, and he carefully takes it down from the crib, carries it to the changing table. He's going to improve it in some way, Amy knows. Anthony's eyes are finally closed, so she follows him.

"Bear in mind, this  _is_  1946," she says as he takes bits of things out of his pocket. "There is a certain amount of blending in I'd like to do."

"Oh, stop your worrying, Pond," the Doctor scoffs, and he says it like he was never gone, like nothing ever happened, like she's twenty-one again. He does something to the mobile and she leans against his side, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder. Just like there'd never been apart. She watches him work, quick and certain, although she has no idea what he's actually making, and sighs.

"What happens after…" the Doctor starts to say, ask, but trails off halfway. Amy exhales. This is what she was waiting for. The other reason River brought him here. The Doctor screws something into place on the mobile. "- We could take you back," he says after a few minutes of silence that Amy refuses to break. He sounds fragile and frightened by the idea, the enormity of what he is suggesting. They could go with River. Take Anthony to meet his grandparents, ask them to watch him, go on one last trip in the TARDIS that turns into another last trip, and another, and a third. Settle back down in London, with color television and mobile phones and all the other things they miss. Meet Clara. Have adventures. Go on as though this was just another stint under Stonehenge, or in quarantine on an alien planet. Make up for lost time. Of course she and Rory have talked about it. 

"What about the paradox?" she asks quietly. She doesn't try to meet the Doctor's eye; she knows he'd just pointedly look away. His fingers stumble as he tries to pick up a small bead of something. 

"There are ways…" he says, and she wonders if there really are, or if he's just trying to convince himself. Just trying to save them.

The first time River turned up had been a shock. The second time, they'd had time to talk about it. They'd made up their minds almost two years ago. "No," Amy says, gently. He goes very still against her. "We would have had to say goodbye someday," she says. "We… I… I still love traveling  We both do. Doing all those mad things… we wanted to draw it out. Keep going as long as we could. But we couldn't've done it forever. We have a house, and Anthony, and jobs, and friends—" And they'd had most of those in London, too. And they'd lost them both once already. "We wish—Rory and me, we wish we could've ended it differently. That you could visit more, you and River both. But it didn't, and we're okay. You didn't ruin us. You didn't leave us to die. Look at me," she says, drawing away, and he does, cautiously, like he's afraid of being stung. "We're happy."

"I… Yes, of course you are," says the Doctor, and she can see the wall going up in his eyes. He licks at his top lip nervously, and holds up the mobile, which looks basically the same as before. "Ta-dah!" 

She's frustrated. She doesn't know that he understands. As reluctantly as he was dragged here by River, and as happy as they both are to see him, as wonderful as this day has been—it's not to give  _them_ closure. But maybe that self-loathing streak runs deeper than she'd thought. Maybe he thinks he's just been rejected. She watches him hang the mobile back up, and carefully, deliberately, tap at Saturn with his index finger. She's momentarily completely distracted as the room lights up in stars and nebulae—and planets, not to scale, can't be, but there's Jupiter on a wall, and there's a shooting star as she turns, trying to take it all in. It makes her, unexpectedly, want to cry. It's beautiful. She'll never see it again.

"Wow," says Rory from the door, in the silence, sounding suitably impressed and having probably come over to check on them both. But River isn't behind him, so maybe they've also guessed the conversation. The Doctor smiles cautiously at him. Rory flips the light switch as he comes in, making the galaxy—the solar system—look even brighter and more spectacular. He closes the door behind him, and then it's just the three of them and the stars. For a moment they all just look at the walls and ceiling and not at one another. "Did you tell him?" Rory asks, as the moment starts to become uncomfortable.

"Of course!" says the Doctor, too quickly, clasping his hands together. And then he remembers the baby and lowers his voice. "I'm glad you two have settled in. So glad. I'm sure River will keep me updated—"

"Doctor," Rory says. He's using what Amy thinks of as his Nurse Williams voice; the  _I don't care if you don't want to, you are getting this injection_ tone. And she kind of wants to smile at it, but she's worried about what he might say after that. Because for all that he loves the Doctor too, the two of them have always been a little, stupidly competitive—no longer over her, but over little things, and the last thing she wants is to make this worse. But she shouldn't have doubted him, because he says next, calmly, "We're not saying goodbye because we don't love you and don't want to travel anymore."

"I know that," the Doctor says a little petulantly, to mask whatever else he's feeling.

"And we're also not saying goodbye because we don't have a choice," Rory continues like he hadn't heard. "We're not trapped, or stuck. We  _chose_ this." The second River had proved it possible to visit. The second they had realized that if New York was a paradox that didn't mean the entire country, or the entire year, was. The second they realized they could fight or make that final call, between Doctor life and real life, and that as much as they missed the Doctor, the idea of fighting and risking it all seemed like a  _risk_ and not just a challenge. "We don't need you to rescue us, because we don't need to be rescued."

Amy worries that that might be a little too blunt, even for Rory, but the Doctor just looks at him. The silence stretches on, and Amy wants to break it but forces herself to wait. Journalism trick. Always let the subject break the silence, however he will. 

The mobile has been set up to faster-than-real time, and she watches Jupiter inch itself across the wall.

" _I miss you_ ," the Doctor says finally, sounding raw enough that it hurts, and Amy takes the three steps across the room to hug him. He doesn't resist; he clings on desperately, and she wants to cry and wants to be brave. 

"We miss you too," she says into his shoulder, and then pulls away. This time she's the one who takes his head in her hands, and if she's just trying to throw his own comfort back at him, she's at least not really thinking about it. "But we're okay. And you have Clara now."

"And River," Rory says loyally. He's leaning against the wall close by, watching. Amy can tell by his voice he's a little choked up, too, so that makes three of them. She lets go of the Doctor and pats him on the arm. He glances at her and then goes to hug Rory. It's not the same kind of clinging— but it's years from the awkward, obligatory sort of hugging they used to do, and she can't help but smile when they both do the manly back pat thing. Heaven forbid they show emotion.

The Doctor blinks rapidly when they part, lit up by Neptune. "Oh, Ponds," he says and doesn't say anything else. But that was a lot already. He looks from one to the other and back, and then smiles, the mask going back up. "And there's always Anthony, eh? When he gets a bit older?"

Amy and Rory share a slightly alarmed look, quickly, but on just as quick reflection Amy decides she'd probably be a little disappointed if her son never travelled at all. "You might have to fight his sister for that privilege " Rory says, thinking along the same lines. The Doctor suddenly, a little cautiously for the first heartbeat, beams at them both. He grabs Rory and kisses his forehead. So Amy goes and kisses the Doctor's cheek, and then Rory's so he doesn't feel left out. Rory interrupts this kissing with: "River is probably going to do something drastic if we leave her unattended," which is, in fairness, probably true.

Before they leave the nursery, the Doctor kisses Anthony on the crown of his head, too.

When they find River, she's in the living room, holding the family picture of Amy, Rory, and Anthony. She gives Amy a quick, questioning look, and Amy nods. River slips it into her bag. Rory and the Doctor follow close behind, sliding into casual conversation easily, like nothing had ever happened. "I think it's about time we left," River announces regretfully. 

Too soon, Amy thinks, but she nods. The longer they put it off, the harder it'll be. She turns around to the Doctor, who suddenly has gone rather still again. Now that they're here, at the goodbyes, she doesn't really know what to say. Something big? Some sort of speech? She scrambles for something in her head and comes up momentarily blank. 

Rory goes first. And he'd never even gotten to say goodbye before—either befores. He looks for a moment like he doesn't know what to say either, but takes a breath. "I thought you were sort of rubbish when I first got dragged along onto the TARDIS," he says, which causes the Doctor to look surprised for some reason, and River to bite her lip to not laugh. "But I'm glad I was. I had a brilliant time with you, and I- I'm a lot of a better person than I used to be, so, thanks." And then he sticks out his hand like he intends to shake on it.  _B minus grade, Mr Pond_ , Amy thinks. The Doctor looks confused, and so Rory hugs him instead. The Doctor says something to him, too quietly for her to hear, but she sees Rory look embarrassed and smile and get slightly misty and thinks she can guess.

She still doesn't know what to say, so she turns to River. "Try to come by for Anthony's birthday," she says.

"Of course," River smiles.

She's out of time to buy. Amy turns back to the Doctor slowly. He looks fidgety again. She's dimly aware of River and Rory heading towards the door, saying their own goodbyes. She doesn't have any regrets. This is what she chose. What they chose. But the enormity— the end, the last page, here we are, you'll never get another chance. She doesn't know what to say. How to make it perfect and right.

Finally, she smiles. Last time, she'd been crying and distraught. This time, she can smile. She will smile. "Goodbye," she says to the Doctor.

The Doctor nods slowly. For a second she's worried he's going to run, break off and just go. He hates goodbyes. He's afraid of goodbyes. "Yes," he says, and then kisses her, on the forehead, and then he just stands there, holding her, and does it again. "Goodbye, Amelia Pond." He tries to smile too. He's not even close. She wraps her arms around him and tries not to cry into his jacket. After a long time, but not long enough, he moves, and she lets him go, and he pulls away. His eyes are watery and she's no better. This is it. She's sad, it hurts, but it's okay. There's no guilt. She doesn't want to run. He'll be okay. So will she. 

The front door is open. She can feel the draft, hear Rory and River talking, the quieter sounds of the house, the neighborhood, a passing car. She can't hear the stars in Anthony's room, but they're still spinning. In just a second, she knows, they'll turn to the door and maybe talk for another moment, the four of them, and then she and Rory will watch them head down the path and vanish in a spark of light. Five last minutes. The Doctor takes a deep breath, raises his shoulders, and starts to go.

"Hey," she says, and he looks back. She smiles, and it's easier. "Gotcha."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Adventures of Anthony: In Technicolor!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/823202) by [alpacas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacas/pseuds/alpacas)




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